Far From Home

by Val Wood

  ‘But why are you telling me, Mr Dreumel?’ she asked, perturbed by this confidence. ‘You don’t know me. I could tell everyone too. How do you know I can keep a secret?’

  He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. But I can guess. I can generally tell if someone is honest and trustworthy.’ He smiled his dimpled smile. ‘I don’t really know why I told you, but sometimes it is good to confide, to share. Besides,’ he added, ‘I haven’t told you where the land is and if I did you wouldn’t be able to find it. Being only a woman,’ he said slyly.

  ‘Ah,’ she said gaily. ‘I thought there would be a reason. So who is looking after this land?’ she asked. ‘Shouldn’t you be there guarding it?’

  ‘Normally, yes,’ he said. ‘But I have found a fellow who has been in the mining business – an Englishman, who is there now supervising the machinery which is being assembled. I’m expecting him this week, as a matter of fact. He’s travelling to New York to tell us of the work in progress.’

  After they had finished eating, Georgiana spoke to the desk clerk and asked to see the rooms. They were smaller than at the other hotel but comfortably furnished and decorated in warm colours. They had two free so she booked them for an indefinite stay. Wilhelm Dreumel kept out of earshot as she negotiated a price, and she was glad that he did not try to interfere or recommend.

  They strolled back to the Portland. The evening was cool but dry and there was a salty smell of the sea which made her feel nostalgic for home, but she also felt buoyed up by the fact that she was making progress in her life. I have made a friend, she thought, who has confided in me, and I have made a decision about moving hotels and I have not yet been here one week.

  ‘It has been most pleasant, Miss Gregory,’ Dreumel said as he escorted her into the Portland foyer. ‘Very pleasant indeed, and I hope that perhaps we can repeat the evening, only perhaps you would be my guest next time?’

  ‘That would be lovely.’ She extended her hand to his. ‘Where are you staying, Mr Dreumel?’ she asked. ‘Here at the Portland?’

  ‘No, at the Marius. I prefer the simplicity. So I will hope to see you again soon. Tomorrow if my man turns up as promised I shall be in discussion with him. Perhaps,’ he said, raising a finger as if it had just occurred to him. ‘Perhaps you would care to meet him. He is from northern England, as you are.’

  ‘Oh, yes! It would be good to hear how a fellow English person is surviving in this new country.’

  He smiled. ‘It doesn’t seem so very new to me as I have lived here all my life, but yes, I do understand what you mean.’

  ‘What is his name?’ Georgiana asked. ‘I may know of him or his family.’

  ‘Newmarch,’ he replied. ‘Edward Newmarch.’

  She stared blankly for a moment, then said faintly, ‘I do know the Newmarches, but I think not the same family. They are not in mining.’

  She took her leave of him and walked unsteadily up the stairs to her room. It isn’t possible, she thought. It must be sheer coincidence.

  Edward Newmarch, her cousin May’s husband, had sailed for America eighteen months before Georgiana had decided also to travel abroad. He had left his new wife a letter saying that he was leaving to begin another life and begging her forgiveness. What he didn’t say in the letter and what they had subsequently discovered was that he had booked three tickets for the voyage, one for himself, one for his valet, and one for his mistress, a young mill girl, whom he had been seeing since before his marriage.

  May Newmarch had dashed down to the dock with her brother-in-law, Martin, in time to see her husband board the ship. But his mistress had stayed behind, choosing, so it seemed, not to go with him.

  They had heard nothing more from him, no communication at all. May’s father had tried in vain to put a stop to Edward drawing funds from the bank where May’s dowry was deposited, even though the money and various shares deposited there after Edward Newmarch’s marriage to May were legally his.

  ‘It can’t be him,’ Georgiana murmured as Kitty pulled off her boots. He’d never get his hands dirty in such a thing as mining, she mused.

  ‘What, miss?’ Kitty said.

  ‘Oh, nothing much,’ she said. ‘Kitty, let’s get packed. We’re moving tomorrow.’

  As they settled into the Marius the next day, Kitty said, ‘I like it better here, Miss Gregory. It’s not so snooty as ’Portland, and them desk clerks were always telling me that I should leave you and get a proper job. I telled them,’ she said vehemently, ‘this is a proper job, looking after you, and they just laughed at me and said I was like them black slaves in the South.’

  Georgiana was shocked. ‘But you don’t feel like that, do you, Kitty? I’d be devastated if you left.’

  ‘Oh no, miss, I don’t. I know how you depend on me, and besides I depend on you. What would I do on my own?’

  Georgiana took a deep breath. ‘We need each other, Kitty, and that’s a fact. We’re two women alone in a foreign land.’ She considered for a moment. ‘How would it be,’ she said, ‘seeing as people here have problems with the idea of servants – how would you like to call yourself my companion, whenever anyone asks what you do?’

  Kitty beamed and her face went pink. ‘It would seem as if I’d gone up in ’world, miss.’ She pondered. ‘Sounds very nice. Better than a lady’s maid. Would you prefer that, Miss Gregory?’

  ‘I think that perhaps I would,’ she said. ‘And it would mean that we could dine together.’ She saw the hesitant expression on Kitty’s face. ‘I don’t always like to dine alone and I would show you which cutlery to use if you were not sure.’

  ‘I do know already, miss, cos didn’t I sometimes set ’table at your aunt’s house?’

  ‘Of course you did, Kitty. I’d forgotten.’ Her aunt had a housekeeper, cook and kitchen maid. Kitty, who had started out as a parlour maid, had been elevated to look after her and Georgiana’s needs. ‘Yes,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘I think that is what we shall do.’

  ‘Goodness, miss,’ Kitty exclaimed. ‘It’s as if I’m gaining that equality like you’re allus talking about.’

  ‘Well, thank goodness someone is,’ Georgiana said ruefully. ‘Come along, then, let’s get ready to go down to supper. You could wear your grey dress tonight and tomorrow we’ll buy you something else to wear.’

  Kitty followed her, just one step behind as they went down the stairs. In the foyer, waiting near the door, was Wilhelm Dreumel. He turned and saw them. ‘Miss Gregory,’ he called. ‘Newmarch is just collecting his bags from the coach. I remember where he’s from now. He’s from a place near the port of Hull on the east coast of England. I’m sure you’ll know him!’

  Behind her, Georgiana heard Kitty draw in a breath and she turned and put her finger to her lips.

  The doors swung open and a man came in carrying a bag and shook hands with Dreumel. Dreumel said something to him and they both looked up. A dismayed recognition dawned in the man’s eyes as he saw Georgiana.

  She took a few more steps down and stood in front of the two men. She knew him all right. Only it wasn’t Edward Newmarch.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  In September 1850, when Edward Newmarch stumbled up the gangboard onto the ship, all he wanted to do was close the cabin door behind him and sink into oblivion. He didn’t look back at the crowds who were gathered at the Humber dock basin to watch the ship depart, for if he had he would have seen Ruby walking away. Ruby his mistress, his love, who had refused to travel with him and had told him that she loved someone else. He had barely given thought to his abandoned wife May, he was simply wrapped in his own misery and humiliation.

  ‘Damn and blast all women,’ he muttered as he lay face down on his bunk. ‘I gave that girl everything she wanted. Money, clothes, trinkets!’ Well, all right, he admitted. I couldn’t marry her. But it would have been as good as a marriage if she’d agreed to come! She’d have had to change her manners of course, put on a bit of style so that people wouldn’t have guessed that she’d come up from the
gutter. But Ruby could have done that if she’d had a mind to, she had it in her.

  There was a faint tap on the door. ‘Yes! What is it?’

  ‘Can I get you anything, sir?’ It was his valet’s voice. Allen. Robert Allen, who had agreed to come with him. Hmm, Edward brooded. He hadn’t needed to ask twice. Allen had jumped at the chance of a new life.

  ‘No, I don’t need anything. Wait, on second thoughts – come in.’ He raised himself on one elbow. ‘Get me a drink,’ he said as Allen came in, bending his head so that he didn’t bang it on the door frame. Not a tall man, he was stocky in build, unlike his employer, who was tall and slim, but the cabin ceilings and doors were low.

  Allen crouched to open the cupboard door. ‘Brandy, sir? Whisky? Port?’

  Edward exhaled. ‘Port, and leave the bottle here by me. Then don’t disturb me until supper.’

  ‘We’re about to sail, sir. Don’t you want to see us leave?’ Allen poured the port into a glass and put the bottle by the bed as instructed.

  ‘No, I damn well don’t! I’ll be glad to be gone.’ Edward raised his glass and took a drink. ‘Have you left anyone behind, Allen?’

  ‘No, sir.’ Allen’s expression was impassive. ‘Nobody.’

  ‘Good for you. Nobody to mourn you or blacken your name, then?’ Edward took another drink.

  ‘No, sir. Will that be all, sir?’

  ‘Yes. Make sure there’s plenty of meat for supper. I feel the need for some red meat.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’ Allen backed out of the cabin, closed the door firmly and returned to watching the shores of East Yorkshire slide away into the darkness. It was cold and wet in spite of being early autumn and there were few people on deck.

  He hadn’t been able to believe his luck when Edward Newmarch had approached him and told him, in confidence, that he was thinking of going to America. ‘But not a word to Mrs Newmarch,’ he had said. ‘I don’t want to tell her yet. Not until I’ve thought it through,’ and then he had asked if Allen would consider going with him.

  Wouldn’t I just! Allen had thought, and needed no time to contemplate. He was bored with his job of running around after Newmarch, helping him dress, shave, cleaning his shoes, making sure his shirts and collars were freshly starched and ironed, and when his employer was out, as he frequently was, he had to help clean the household silver, which, he considered, was not the work of a valet.

  But then, he had deliberated, the Newmarch family were not top-drawer aristocracy with a mass of servants who knew who did what and when, but wealthy folk who had made their money out of industry and commerce, and employed people to do for them what they didn’t want to do for themselves.

  I’ll be rid of him as soon as I can, he determined as he watched the light of Spurn Point flash in the darkness. Just as soon as I see what’s what. There’ll be opportunities galore, I shouldn’t wonder. I might even pan for gold, though the best sites will have gone by now. Not that I’d go into mining. I vowed that when I left home. I saw what coal mining did to Da and our Jim, coughing their hearts and lungs out. No, that life wasn’t for me.

  He had known very quickly that what Edward Newmarch was planning didn’t include Mrs Newmarch. No-one else in the servants’ hall knew anything, and certainly not Mrs Newmarch’s maid, Dora, for he had had a mild flirtation with her and she would have told him if her mistress was going away. No, he had quickly deduced that his master was planning on taking his little filly, who was nothing more than a mill girl.

  Ironic, he thought, and pulled a small bottle of whisky out of his pocket which he had siphoned off from a larger bottle when he was preparing the cabin, and whilst Newmarch was on the wharfside trying to persuade his paramour to accompany them. And she wouldn’t come! He grinned in the darkness and took a drink from the bottle. More fool her! Or maybe not, he reconsidered. Maybe she knew that eventually Newmarch would tire of her and she would be abandoned, just as his wife had been.

  It would be a hard life for a woman anyway. He took another drink. Unless there’s plenty of money, and Newmarch will keep tight hold of his, or rather his wife’s, money. Poor bitch, she’ll be left with nothing. His mind had switched to May Newmarch. Still, she’s got a rich papa, he’ll look after her, I expect.

  Yes, I’ll move on as soon as I can. That’s what folk do in America. They don’t stay in one place like we do. They grasp every opportunity and if they don’t find what they’re looking for in one place, then they move on to the next. That’s what I shall do. And I’ll be welcomed. The country has opened its doors to folk like me, people willing to work, immigrants, poor or not. As long as they’re the right colour of course. He took another drink and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Some of them are not so keen on the blacks having their freedom. He stared up into the dark sky and saw the flicker of stars. But that’s another issue. Nothing to do with me.

  Edward kept to his cabin until they reached London Bridge. Their passage to America was the next day and after staying overnight at the Brunswick Hotel they boarded the Chelsea at Brunswick Wharf. Edward had a premier cabin on the top deck, and Allen was in second class, where he had to share with others.

  To begin with Edward avoided his fellow passengers as much as possible and leaned morosely over the rails gazing at the swelling Atlantic waters. He brooded on his misfortune in love and anxiously debated whether he had made a mistake in leaving all that he had in England for a chance of a different life in America.

  Two weeks into the voyage the captain invited him to take supper with him, where he met other first-class passengers who had come from Hampshire, Dorset and Wiltshire and therefore did not know him or his family. Their company was pleasant and he found that they too were as apprehensive and stimulated at what might be in front of them as he was.

  He told them that he was a widower looking for a new life, and following their sympathetic reaction decided that this was the role he would play. He found they were disinclined to enquire or question him after such recent sorrow and understood his need for solitude.

  He had no conversation or discourse with the immigrant passengers travelling on the lower decks, for he had nothing in common with them. According to the captain they were mainly agricultural workers, some taking wives and children in a search for a better life.

  ‘I’ve decided to take another ship and go to New Orleans,’ Edward told Robert Allen as they headed on course for New York six weeks later. ‘And then to California. The captain says that everybody who is anybody has gone to buy land in California. So that’s what I shall do.’

  ‘But won’t it be too late, sir? The gold rush was last year, in ’49.’

  ‘I’m not thinking of digging for gold,’ Newmarch said drily. ‘I’ll set up as a supplier. The diggers will need supplies. You know, food, shovels, picks.’

  ‘Won’t they be there already? The suppliers will have followed behind the miners.’

  ‘That’s what I’ve decided to do, Allen!’ Newmarch said stubbornly, brooking no discourse, though he conceded privately that perhaps his valet might be right. ‘I want to take a look. Besides, New York is just another city, bigger and grander probably then what we have at home, but nevertheless it is still a city. I want to see America in the raw, to find out what it has to offer.’

  Allen was disappointed. He’d wanted to visit New York and had planned to leave Newmarch’s employ. He was convinced that there would be opportunities there, men of business who would employ him until he was ready to set up for himself.

  ‘So where shall we head for, sir? If we got off in New York we could go overland to California.’

  He saw Newmarch’s cynical sneer. He had noticed that his employer had regained his confidence during the latter part of the voyage. He was no longer sunk in despair as he had been when they had embarked, and he had joined with other passengers as they’d set up card games.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Allen! I’m not cut out for roughing it. I don’t want to join some damn waggon train
. No thank you! I want to have a little comfort, even though it’s tedious on board ship. No, we’ll change vessesls and go on to New Orleans, stay there awhile and then on to California.’

  I could tell him I’m leaving, Allen contemplated as he waited in line in the galley for the ship’s cook to serve up the soup. Edward Newmarch had brought his own salted meat though he needn’t have done, as the price of the ticket included meat, soup, bread and vegetables.

  I don’t have my wages yet, he reasoned. And I might not get them in full if I leave. It would be just like Newmarch to take the ticket money out of what he owes me.

  ‘We’ll buy extra provisions when we arrive in New York.’ Newmarch took the soup bowl from him and dipped in a piece of dry bread to soften it. ‘We shall have plenty of time before we get the next ship.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’ Allen served the meat and potatoes onto a plate. If he gives me money to buy food I could disappear until the ship has sailed. But then he’s tight-fisted, he won’t give me much. He won’t know the cost of things anyway. His type never do.

  When they arrived in New York Edward Newmarch obtained passages on a boat sailing for New Orleans the next day, then booked in at an hotel near the waterfront. ‘Righto,’ he said to Allen. ‘Let’s buy what we need for the voyage. I’ll come with you.’

  He hired a hansom, which bowled along Broadway towards the nearest shopping plaza, and whilst Newmarch waited in the cab, Allen went to buy provisions.

  ‘You just off a ship, mister?’ A butcher wrapped a ham shank and a leg of mutton in a muslin cloth. Allen nodded. It would be obvious, he supposed. His trousers and coat were crumpled from lying on his bunk for there was no space for hanging clothes, and although he had washed his shirts along with those of his employer’s, there were no facilities for pressing or ironing on board.

  ‘Staying in New York?’

  ‘No. Going on to New Orleans.’

  The butcher laughed. ‘Then make sure you eat the meat before you get there, mister, or else them danged flies will have it.’ He had a round flat face and he grinned again. ‘Then the mosquitoes will eat you. If the crocs don’t get you first!’ He looked towards Newmarch waiting in the hansom outside. ‘That your boss?’